


SuperStalker

by RansomNotes



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Identity Porn, M/M, Mutual Pining, Online Relationship, Paparazzi, Social Media, Wade Wilson's Inappropriate Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 12:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RansomNotes/pseuds/RansomNotes
Summary: Spider-Man is trying to get over his ill-advised crush on Deadpool, and his online flirtation with fellow SuperStalker user might be just the ticket! Except, of course, nothing in Peter Parker’s life is simple, so his online crush who he thought sometimes roleplays as Deadpool on their favorite superhero-sightings website--actually is Wade Wilson. Deadpool-style humor, some hijinks, and maybe even some actual plot as Spider-Man tries to focus on his calling, while Deadpool tries to get Spider-Man to see that Deadpool is calling, to ask him out! (There will be references to, and excerpts from, the fictional superhero-following social media TMZ-like website they use, SuperStalker.)





	1. [Login to SuperStalker account]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the SVBB mods and the entirety of Team 9, for all your encouragement and hard work!  
Thank you to my beta [PixelizedGenocide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelizedGenocide/pseuds/Pix_G_K), and thank you to, in order of art appearance in the story, [borkyandstove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingersnapstothat/), [ohstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/), [UnicornMister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnicornMister), my 3 artists!
> 
> Check out the Tumblr links for everyone in the End Notes (a tumblr for everyone! tumblrs for all my friends!)
> 
> And we hope you enjoy our sweet, sweet collaboration!

Spider-Man tipped his head back to lean against the wall. It had been another exhausting night on patrol, after a busy day with college and general adult-ing. He still hadn't made it to the laundromat, unfortunately, but that was a problem for future-Peter, and current-Peter was more concerned about getting into bed than getting clean clothes. Well, full disclosure, even bone-tired he still had at least one perpetual concern: he couldn't help the constant background distraction of his embarrassing unrequited crush. It was just a low level frustration, almost permanently on his mind, but he could tune it out well enough normally. Tonight was not a good night for redirecting his thoughts though. He'd spent a tiny portion of the night with the focus of his fixation, and now there was plenty of new material to obsess over and replay endlessly. Deadpool was possibly the last person he should fixate on, with the whole murder/mercenary thing, and the risky loose cannon thing, and the "Deadpool-might-be-legitimately-mentally-ill-in-a-dangerous-and-not-just-quirky-way" thing. But, well, Peter wasn’t always the best about listening to his own rules for his personal life. Actually, it was almost more self-control fatigue, from how carefully he acted to protect his secret identity, and beyond that, he gave himself some leeway.

The Avengers kept Peter on the backburner, and off the first string team, as it was, which was fine, and even sort of reasonable, Peter could almost admit. Given his unfortunate unreliability because of work, school, and personal life concerns keeping him distracted and busy, plus his commitment to keeping his personal identity secret, it made a lot of sense that the Avengers wouldn't fully induct him to the team even if they kept him involved in the superhero community and connected in case of emergencies. He couldn’t imagine getting any closer to Deadpool would help change their minds, with how often they were upset with the merc. And if it’s dangerous to date someone while keeping his identity secret, he can’t imagine it will be much safer for his friends and loved ones if his masked identity got too close to a murky-motivations mercenary.

These were all moot points though, given that Deadpool would never actually reciprocate. Oh, he flirted with Spider-Man, and absolutely anyone else Peter had ever seen him interact with, male or female, human or otherwise. But that was just his quirky loudmouth persona, it wasn’t anything remotely real, Peter felt sure, so this was one crush that was its way safe, because it was securely unachievable, unpursue-able. _ Not like I’d have the time for anything beyond a rich fantasy life anyway, _he thought to himself.

He'd grabbed his ratty backpack from its hiding place before settling on the roof, and he wearily pulled out a granola bar to gnaw on while he turned on his old phone. He'd gotten in the habit of lingering on secluded roofs near good free WiFi signals so he could scroll mindlessly for a bit before heading home to his bare bones apartment with its terrible cheap internet. It was a funny risk to his secret identity that he had to always watch what he said about good WiFi locations, since he knew them entirely by rooftops rather than the stores themselves, and it's decidedly weirder to say "there's free WiFi by that billboard corner of the no access roof on the red building down the street" than "at the coffeeshop in the middle of the block."

Oh well. With more eagerness than he'd shown for most of the rest of the night, he ignored any missed texts for now and went straight to his fave site, SuperStalker.

He'd first joined the site because they would sometimes buy the extra superhero photos he took after the Daily Bugle passed on them, and while it wasn't much of a salary supplement, it had turned into a fun hobby too, reading the comments and seeing the range of random superhero and supervillain pictures on the site. Anyone could submit their photos to the site, and have them hosted under a chosen screen-name, and periodically the main feed and homepage of the website would feature select photos and pay the (very minimal) pre-set licensing fees from the sign-up tiny text. Peter wasn’t buying much more than ramen with the money he’d made from the site, but it was fun to see all the crowd-sourced photos, and feel the rush of having his chosen for the daily selection, plus the compliment of sometimes seeing people wearing his photos on the gear sold through the site.

Lately there was something else about the site that had him hooked, and it wasn’t just the awesome superhero pics. He’d made a friend on the site lately, and seeing his absurd commentary was now half the fun.

He scrolled to Deadpool's photo page first and laughed over some of the poses people had captured. Deadpool was always a good sport for fans and photographers it seemed, and in some ways even more available than some of the all-the-time heroes like the Avengers. Granted, Deadpool was also at least as dangerous to innocent bystanders, just from accidental damage during the fights, as any of the other heroes, but he also wasn’t as consistently careful to watch out for civilians, so he regularly showed up on villain-watch lists on morning news shows. But he still managed to endear himself to fans often enough, with how he took public transit to his locations half the time, and the frequency with which he bought rounds at bars or food for everyone in line at food trucks. He was just too unpredictable overall.

There was already a photo from earlier in the night of both Deadpool and Spider-Man, from their brief team-up when Deadpool had casually sauntered in and helped Spider-Man stop a bank robbery. The photo was a little too true to their self characterizations, Peter couldn’t help but notice. Deadpool looked relaxed and emotive, probably on the verge of a joke, like always, while Spider-Man looked gangly and uncomfortable standing near him, bank robbers trussed up in front of them and hostages from the building looking relieved but overwhelmed in the background. He hoped it was just self-(strict viewpoint?) making him hate his own posture and vibe. He worked hard, in the photos he took of himself as Spider-Man, to look confident and poised and experienced. He could almost make himself believe he felt that way every time he put on the mask, in stark contrast to how unsure he felt in his ‘real’ life.

Ugh, he realized what he hated so much about the photo: he looked too much like Peter Parker there, without any superhero posturing.

As usual, one of the first comments was by bangbang-ur-ded, who had a real dedication to (obsession with, honestly) Spider-Man, and an absurd sense of humor, and Peter couldn’t help but appreciate both those facts about him. The part where he pretty consistently role-played as Deadpool himself in his commentary was yet another point in his favor, though Peter would be embarrassed to have to directly admit that, too.

_ “Aww lookee little Spidey keeping me company! Love the way my big bad babe keeps me safe!” _

There were plenty of replies and other comments, too, of course: discussions of the bank robbery details, arguments about who would really keep who safe in a partnership between Deadpool and Spider-Man, and, as always, a few breathless declarations of how romantic it would be if the two heroes were actually together. Peter didn’t blush to see himself so gleefully shipped with the merc by so many of the commenters, but only because he was a bit inoculated to it, from all the time he’d spent on the site. And possibly because he had a few headcanons of his own, of a world where he and Deadpool actually made sense together. It was fine, really, that that wasn’t this world. He was too busy to properly mope and pine, and too broke-college-student poor to support a dedicated depressed ice-cream-and-cry habit, so he may as well scroll through overanalyzed and hilariously captioned photos of the two of them together, anyway.

He navigated to other recent pics, and scrolled to find his friend’s comments in particular. Peter wasn’t going to argue that it was the healthiest coping mechanism, to incognito get validation from a groupie he’d befriended online to deal with loving an unattainable man from afar, but then again, he was careful to avoid facing the topic head on. It was nearly his only guilty pleasure in his life, aside from whatever his vigilante patrolling was. Being Spider-Man was a complicated experience, between his obsession with duty and responsibility, his love for web-swinging and the thrill of succeeding in a fight by brains and/or brawn, his worry about possible repercussions, his angst over the decisions he’d had to make and the secrets he’d been forced to keep, and his bone-deep pride in his calling. He sometimes wished he enjoyed being Spider-Man just a little less, so he could feel less guilty about his own dedication; surely it would be more meaningful to serve if he hated the experience? But even his own tangled motivations couldn’t be enough to keep him down for long, as he looked over the feed of pics and comments, and laughed and smirked to himself at the commentary. Life was good. Complicated, but good.

* * *

It was a Tuesday, the very first time he’d read and noticed that his favorite comment on a recent photograph was from someone he’d appreciated online before. He remembered because Tuesdays were rough, typically, between his college classes all day, and the long Tuesday night lab which usually made an actual dinnertime impossible, followed by his requisite free-night patrolling. 

He'd logged onto the site morosely, vaguely hoping someone might have upvoted his pics, and he'd spluttered out a surprised laugh to see a comment on one of his less favorite pics of himself, one the Daily Bugle had flatly turned down: 

_ "Spider-Man could punch me in the face and I'd say thank you." _

It was by the same prolific commenter he'd noticed before, and for once, _ for once_, Peter decided to relax a little, and enjoy a perk of celebrity he hadn't previously felt comfortable accepting, that of adoration and attraction...and blatant and unrepentant thirst.

He clicked through to see more of bangbang-ur-ded’s recent comments, and while he (or she, to be fair!) happily commented on many heroes photos, the most prolific and exclamation-mark-riddled were reserved for Spider-Man, with a particular focus on photos of both Spider-Man and Deadpool together. That was definitely where Peter was remembering the username from, since that was Peter’s preference too//where Peter spent the majority of his time and attention as well.

Without overthinking it too much (comparatively, since Peter couldn’t fully overcome his own personality, of blurting out anything, or compulsively overanalyzing everything, with no mode in between) he replied to one of the comments on a photo of both sitting near each other on a roof’s edge. 

bangbang-ur-ded: _ my future husband!!!!! <3 _

spider.bro: Which one? Or are you just yelling that at either one to see who answers?

_ noooo Spider-Man, only Spider-Man, he’s my soulmate, you can tell, look at how cozy he looks there. he’d be cozier in my lap though, somebody should tell him _

Yes, you should probably mention that the next time you see him!

_ yaa I should! he doesn’t know yet, in this universe, how much we belong together!! what’s a good courtship gift for a spider? bundles of rope? blu-ray of The Fly? _

Who’s gonna turn down a gift involving Jeff Goldblum?

_ DEFFO! And I'll use those Grandmaster seductive knowing looks_

Peter had laughed and ignored the missed reference, which just about set the tone for all their interactions on the site. 

It started off slowly, a few comment threads here and there, but soon enough they were chatting online nearly every day. It was inevitable that they'd eventually exchange numbers too, and Peter enjoyed having someone else texting his real phone, since it sometimes felt like the only contact he ever got lately were sales calls on his real phone, his smartphone, or stressful warnings and requests for help on his banged up patrol phone. Aunt May didn't text all that much, and occasionally made pointed comments about spending too much time on the phone anyway, after Peter had answered one too many emergency calls on his patrol phone while still trying to keep his secret. And Ned was an all-or-nothing texter, so they sometimes went days between messages and then sent an overwhelming flurry of them, peppered throughout with memes. 

Bangbang (and it felt absurd to call them that, even in his own head, but, well, "anonymous crush" felt a bit too honest) hadn't messaged him today, but there weren't any recent comments on the site either. Peter scrolled earlier, to the morning's comments.

_ "Stone cold stunnah" _ on a photo of Spider-Man swinging above the photographer. On a picture of Deadpool, pointing cheekily at the camera, _ "the face that launched a thousand ships → c'mon I wanna read more smut pairing me with anyone, everyone. Deadpool belongs with ANYONE or NO-ONE, but I'm horny right now so I'm going with ANYONE" _

He replied to the comment:

spider.bro: I don't know, Deadpool's in more pictures with food than people, maybe he'd rather eat than date?

He'd just started answering texts when he got a notification and went back to the app.

bangbang-ur-ded: _ if it's a street cart corn on the cob, insert *why not both meme* and then...just insert _

spider.bro: Eww. TMI. But...not really OOC…

_ this is why you don't order chili lime topping unless your friendly neighborhood cart vendor establishes safe words with you _

EWWWWWWW

_ d'ya need a safe word for this conversation??? _

* * *

A week later, Spider-Man was on a roof -- mostly off -- leaning far over the edge, with his hands stuck to the wall to support his precarious position. He wasn't a detective, really, at all, and he generally stuck to vigilante justice for the crime he happened upon, if just because of the limitations on his time. But lately, he kept coming across references to a particular gang, and too many hints of human trafficking to leave it alone. If he heard anything concrete, he could decide to handle it alone, or maybe call for back-up. His lip curled up in aggravation under the mask. Asking for help mostly ended up with Avengers taking over entirely, and usually not even including him. It wasn't personal, at least he didn't think so, but it still sucked. Sure, he was too busy with college and work to have much free time during the day so he too frequently had to miss any meetings and events, and whether it was just in his head or not, his secret identity made him feel isolated from the group. And besides, he did have a bit of a chip on his shoulder from his years as the youngest of the heroes; he still felt like he needed to prove he could handle everything himself.

But maybe...maybe he could talk to Deadpool about a team up. Deadpool wasn't much for planned activities, it didn't seem like, and he was unpredictable and impossible to control. 

But. 

Well. 

He'd probably be great back-up, if he showed at all, and Peter couldn't help wanting to see more of him, and wanting to fight alongside him again. 

He frowned in concentration, focused on the task at hand again: attempting to eavesdrop on the hookers on the street corner below. His Spidey sense was lightly buzzing, though he couldn't see any different risk down below, and after nightfall no one ever noticed him above. As if he'd conjured him up, Deadpool suddenly dropped out of nowhere next to him. Peter might've shrieked if the shock hadn't mostly stolen his breath.

"Deadpool! What.the.HELL."

Deadpool had perched on the roof’s edge next to him, looking over the scene of prostitutes and the occasional john in the dim night below them.

“Heya, Spidey-babe! Listen, if you’re looking for some company tonight, you only need to ask me, and not even nicely. I’m so cheap, baby, hell, I’ll even pay you!”

Peter rolled his eyes under the mask. Deadpool’s scattershot flirting had become significantly less funny once Peter had fallen for him, and wished any of it could be real. Besides, he had work to do, and ignoring dick (his own, or, the metaphorical one leaning over him) wasn’t helpful.

“Would you shut up,” he hissed. “I’m working a case.”

Deadpool stiffened beside him and glowered through the mask.

“Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, here to arrest some hardworking workin’ girls. Good for you, you prick. Just cuz you won’t get laid, you’re gonna screw somebody else cuz you disapprove of their choices? When I pictured you with a pearl necklace, it wasn’t cuz I imagined you clutching it.”

Peter was wide-eyed, blinking at Deadpool in consternation and shock. Deadpool could be abrupt and blunt, abrasive and incorrigible, but this might be the first time Peter had ever encountered him actually angry. Even in fights, Deadpool was a brilliant fighter, but somehow detached, his verbal diarrhea a signifier of how distracted his mind could be, and how effortless and instinctual his fighting apparently was, that it required so little of his direct focus to decimate his opponents. Peter had never seen an actually dangerously angry Deadpool before, and he felt both a stab of fear and just a hint/soupcon of arousal, all overlaid by the sudden and insistent blaring of his Spidey sense. 

He leaned back and carefully lifted one hand up placatingly, still balanced on the edge on the other hand. 

“Hey. Hey, tone it down, please. We are not in disagreement here, okay? I know those girls are just doing their jobs, and some of them were forced here, some ended up here, and some of them even chose it all on their own, I get that, okay? I’m not here for them.”

He waited a moment for Deadpool to ease back a bit.

“I was actually hoping for your help, soon, with their bosses, okay? I’ve overheard some stuff about the gang that owns this corner, and a human trafficking ring, and I’m trying to get some info from the girls to see if they know where all the bad stuff is happening, the less...voluntary stuff, y'know? Are you with me?”

Deadpool stared at him for a long moment, and Peter wasn’t sure what he would even be looking for in Spider-Man's mask, but eventually he nodded, apparently convinced.

“Yep, I gotchu. I’ve got no time for the people villainizing the girls when enuff of ‘em are victims of circumstance if nothing else, and anyway, they’re not the problem. I got the Swedish attitude, ya know? Live and let live, right?”

Peter didn’t understand the reference, but he nodded back, relieved. Deadpool could be baffling, often enough, but he clearly understood Peter’s goals and seemed in alliance.

“‘Kay then, Spidey, you ready? Let’s get closer!”

They backtracked down the roof to drop down into the alley, and as they approached the corner, Peter slowed to hang back and listen.

He scrabbled his hands at the bricks a bit when Deadpool slung an arm over his shoulders and started to pull him further forward. 

“Hey, no, what are you doing?!” He finally planted his feet and forced them both to a stop. Deadpool looked impressed at the show of strength, and a bit confused.

“What’s wrong, getting eight cold feet about this?”

“About _ what _, we’re supposed to be listening in, not just barging up to them! They’ll freak out, or tell their bosses, or something!”

Deadpool laughed, tugging him over almost off-balance as he reacted. 

“Aww, little baby spider is afraid of the girlies, huh? Worried you won’t get to see anymore unicorns if you talk to a girl, or what?”  
Peter tried to splutter an answer, and Deadpool continued.

“Honey, baby, sugar, listen, it’s New York. They’ll think we’re cosplayers into kinky shit, or maybe they’ll think they’re just hallucinatin’ again. Best case scenario, they think we _ are _ the real deal, and we get some good-good at a discount. Now c’mon!”

* * *

Peter tried to focus on the notes on the screen in the lecture hall, but his phone was burning a hole in his pocket. He’d posted a few great candids he’d gotten of Deadpool the other night, before a planned meeting, and a few staged shots of himself from earlier in the day, and he couldn’t wait to hear back from Bang-bang, who he now knew, from their direct messages, was named Wade. Or at least, said his name was Wade. Peter couldn’t keep up too many levels of secret identity, so he’d settled for saying his name was Pedro, since Ned occasionally cycled through variants of Peter as nicknames for him, and he was very proud of his new profile pic, of a smiley spider photoshopped into a Vote for Pedro t-shirt. He’d had a laugh about it with Wade, who was as charmingly good at remembering random details Peter had mentioned as he was hilariously filthy. Peter had a hard time reading some of the comments and messages without blushing, let alone keeping up with him, but it was fun and distracting.

He also was hoping for a message from the real Deadpool, on his patrol phone. He and Ned, after a few dark web tutorials, had found a way for Peter to feel safely anonymous and untracked in his messages. He certainly wasn’t going to test their skills against Tony Stark--or Black Widow, for that matter, though that was as much a part of his general policy of steering clear of her whenever possible as it was in concern that she could or would be able to track him. In all honesty, he was relatively aware of the futility of actually hiding from intellects and abilities that Stark and Widow represented, but so far they’d respected his privacy well enough, and he didn’t see the benefit of exchanging numbers and potentially reminding them of any blank spots in their files on him. No need to attract the wrong kind of attention. Huh, well, he’d deeply appreciate a particular version of the wrong kind of attention, given that the only thing he felt as strongly about Deadpool as his attraction for him was his concern about him. Concern in every sense, since it seemed as likely to be hurt by Deadpool as to see Deadpool get hurt, and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing either, but it seemed inevitable. 

Anyway. His investigation with Deadpool was slowly progressing. At a glacial pace, honestly. Peter didn’t spend much time as a detective in his day job or vigilante persona. He was painfully aware he would make a terrible spy, and Deadpool was incapable of subtlety, as a general statement.

But overall he still felt he and Deadpool could handle this investigation on their own, and they could leave the Avengers out until the very end, and maybe even handle things on their own then. Plus he just wanted the chance to pull something off with Deadpool, without everyone else in the way. And without everyone else seeing his crush, too, that would be great. He wasn’t sure he could hide that from the Avengers. Okay, again, he didn’t think he could hide anything from Black Widow, but there was no reason to risk anyone else picking up on it too. Not yet.

* * *

bangbang-ur-ded: _ its timeeeee, c’mon _

spider.bro: No way, I’ve still got a few days left to keep my secret!!

_ booo you’re the lamest spider or bro ever _

Aww you say such nice things

_ i can do better than that with my mouth! now put up or shut up _

No, I’m telling you, it’s not ready, and I’m not going to rush perfection.

_ chunky hunky, ur the one who said it was just a silly caption contest! who cares, you said, lying like a liar who lies _

spider.bro: I’m pretty sure all I ever said was it maybe didn’t *quite* deserve the texts you sent saying 911 and emergency and whatever other hyperbolic nonsense. And speaking of hyperbolic nonsense, stop calling me chunky!

_ whatever, u needed to see that caption contest announcement ASAP if not ASAP-ier. and I’ll call you anything you want if you just send me some pics of u! i’ve got some great caption ideas for any pic u wanna send me!!! _

Oh, I’ll bet. But I told you, I value privacy so much that the only photos I’ll share are those I take surreptitiously of other people, namely supers :P Just enjoy the pics I send to the site alright? And I don’t doubt your entry is great, but I’m gonna be the one winning that $5k prize, so it’s gonna be the best damn captioned photo you’ve ever seen. Ever.


	2. [Click to accept SuperStalker's media submission guidelines]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closer and closer, then colder.

Peter had never been in an online relationship, but he thought he might be well on his way into one, at the rate he and Wade were in contact. It was almost a problem, how hard he found it to leave his main phone now when he went on patrol. He didn't want to lose yet another phone to his vigilante job, but he hated having to wait to talk to Wade. He’d even told Wade his real name, at least, his first name and last initial.

And at least he got plenty of messages from Deadpool keeping him busy on his patrol phone. They were mostly photos and selfies, ostensibly related to the case, but mostly just Deadpool being goofy Deadpool. Selfies of Deadpool with arms akimbo in a superhero pose standing over (literally over, that is, on top of) some beat-up hoodlums, of Deadpool giving a thumbs up while holding up a chimichanga, of Deadpool holding a pretend (God, he hoped it was fake) bomb looking like he was about to pull out wires and defuse it. Knowing Deadpool, it was just as likely to be real as not. And every now and again, photos of street signs, street intersections, and alleyway graffiti, following what clues they'd gotten from the whores. The working girls, the, you know, the prostitutes. Peter blushed every time he referred to them, even mentally, let alone remembered that night when they'd questioned the girls, and Deadpool had endlessly flirted with all of them and him, and joked about threesomes and everything else. He might not even have been joking, but Peter was entirely too embarrassed by all of it to even consider it, any of it. 

No, he wasn't a virgin, like Deadpool sometimes teased, but he wasn't so experienced that it would be unreasonable to assume he was. He wasn't a virgin, if it's simply a line to be crossed, but if one went by the phrase "been around the block," well, Peter had done far more loitering by the curb directly in front of his house, with very little forward motion. 

But with Wade...Peter could practically feel the possibilities ahead, as if his Spidey sense could react to a happily ever after. Alright, okay, so he was in too deep already. Nothing new there. He wasn't slow to leap into superhero-ing either, and for the most part he felt his easy commitment there had been justified. So maybe this gut feeling about Wade was right, too.

And in the meantime, he and Deadpool had plans to meet up later to follow a lead on the case, a restaurant that was definitely a money laundering front for the gang, but might also be part of the whole kidnapping and trafficking people side of the business.

* * *

So this could possibly be construed as a date. Peter felt a tinge of hysteria along with amusement at the thought, but, really. He and Deadpool had met near the restaurant a few times as part of their investigation, and eventually Deadpool had tired of the boring calmness of the process, apparently, and had attacked and interrogated a few nearby gang members tonight. Things often got out of control around Deadpool, so it maybe shouldn't have been surprising that the restaurant was up in smoke by the end of the night. Little additional information was added to their collective file, just more rumors to pursue, but now they were sitting with some of the food they'd absconded with from the flaming kitchen, after making sure everyone got out. The rooftop they'd settled on was near enough to have a clear view of the firefighters and police clearing up the mess.

Deadpool had clinked plastic takeaway forks with him, over their bowls of noodles, and began proposing toasts, with expansive gestures and flecks of food jumping ship from his mouth more often than not. Whatever else Deadpool was, he wasn’t dainty when it came to table manners.

"To super hot superheroes staying metaphorically hot and still unsinged. But also still unhinged!"

Offering a more serious follow-up, Peter said, "To the firefighters and policemen who help clean up after us, while we clean up the villains."

"Yes! To the hot firefighters who wallpaper my apartment in their glorious calendars!"

Peter snorted and shook his head. “I doubt it. No, I don’t think you’ve got pin-up pics around your place. Unless they’re your own fully-suited boudoir shots. Or maybe you’ve gone full Victorian, and it’s all just lovingly taped-up zoomed in photos of people’s ankles.” 

Deadpool grinned back, mask aslant his face and food obscuring his scarred chin as much as the darkness around them. 

“Yeah, Spidey Babe, when you gonna come to my place and see my etchings of your ankles?”

Peter blushed but smiled. “How very untoward that you’d talk about my tarsal bones like that, and here, without even a chaperone or a grand piano. It’s not toward!”

Deadpool gazed at him for a long moment, too solemn, suddenly, for the lighthearted joking. “You’re right. I should talk about how lovely your hair is, even here in the firelight.”

Feeling out of his depth, in a moment too real for Peter, he said, “You can’t even see my hair. Under my mask, I mean. You can’t see me at all.”

“I see you. I see you right here, and I aim to see you elsewhere, too.”

Peter gulped and quickly quipped back, "In that case, to your flawless aim and aimless flaws!"

Laughing, and goodnaturedly seeming to let Spider-Man change the subject, he said, "Well, my spicy arachnid, then let's take it up a notch." He pulled a flask out of his utility belt behind his back (at least, Peter sure hoped it had been in the utility belt) and took a healthy swig before passing it over. Peter sniffed dubiously, but gamely took a drink, and then sputtered out, between coughs, "Oh hell, what IS that??"

"Toilet wine, natch. Nothin’ but the best for some last resort liquor."

"Wait, what is it?? Ewww, what?"

"Ya haven't heard of it, or...hey, you're old enough to drink, aren't ya? I know you're legal, I've seen your backside, and booty that juicy has to be ripe."

Peter's face was even more contorted under the mask, from the harsh taste of the alcohol on his mouth and the madness spilling out of Deadpool's mouth. "WHAT, that's not even close to true!"

Deadpool shot to his feet, athletic in such an easy way that it was easily forgotten, too easy to underestimate him as just a crack shot, when he was genuinely lithe and stunningly quick. His voice was husky and crackling, "Are you telling me you're a kid." It was a question, delivered flatter than Peter's suddenly squashed feelings over having killed the mood so thoroughly and haphazardly.

He scrambled up too, trying to keep his hands and voice steady.

"NO I meant the ripeness and legality connection, just that comment, gosh, no, yes, I'm legal, yes I'm old enough to drink, yes, yes, but ugh. Anyway." He trailed off, as feeble but resolute as a dying moth making one last arc toward a porch light. 

Deadpool stood steadily gazing at him, the pleasant after-battle buzz fractured now. Peter rubbed his neck awkwardly, and leaned towards the ledge. He felt embarrassed and keenly aware of his youth and inexperience, especially with someone as capable and self-assured as Deadpool always was. It was one thing to flirt and occasionally panic and backtrack with Wade, safely at a digital distance, with the time to plan his replies, and a better sense of their equality, as regular people. He’d have been offended to hear anyone didn’t consider Spider-Man on the level with Deadpool, but it was different, somehow, when the unmasked personas were even hypothetically involved. Whoever Deadpool was under the mask, he was obviously more than Peter; he was scarred but defiant, jacked and humorous.

Everything with Deadpool always felt so much more intense, the highs and the lows, and Peter couldn’t bear to stay another moment longer.

“I’m, uh. I should- I’d better go. It’s late. Not because it’s curfew or anything, you know, cause I’m legal, and in college and all, but just…”

Deadpool was quieter than he’d ever seen him, all that fidgeting strength coiled into a silent watchfulness.

“Okay, well, goodnight, Deadpool. I’ll see you-- I’ll see you around, right? Just, uh, text me, or, you know, I’ll text you, and we’ll finish this off. The case I mean. We’ll finish the case. Right. So. Okay.”

Peter finally lunged and swung off the roof, if just to keep from rambling anymore. If he could only be half as graceful socially as he was now, relaxed and swinging easily through the city, he’d be so much less of a human train wreck, he thought bitterly. But it was fine, and he’d gotten out of that awkward conversation at least, if a bit too abruptly. Maybe Spider-Man’s near-instantaneous getaways, the chance to _thwip_ out of any uncomfortable scenario, were part of what made it easier to feel confident inside the spandex. Of course, the chance to stop reigning in all that extreme strength and ability went a long way to putting him at ease, too. Puberty had made him keenly and uncomfortably aware of his own body, like any teenager, but the spider-bite transition had kept him in a perpetual state of hypervigilance about his own limbs and actions. He could easily break a door if he forgot himself and slammed it, he could break an arm if he ever met a high-five too carelessly, and it was a struggle to live so cramped in his own “normal” life. Being Spider-Man was freedom from a lot of things, but it evidently wasn’t freedom from embarrassment. If his real life felt uncomfortably tight and constricting to wear, the spandex suit wasn’t, metaphorically at least. The reality of the suit, yes, of course, involved enough wedgies that Peter was concerned about the ongoing photo caption contest on the SuperStalker site; he’d seen enough “hungry butt” jokes about bespandexed derrières, his own and others, to make him wish capes were a practical choice for his line of vigilante work. Dr. Strange certainly didn’t have to worry about anyone ogling his rear during his jaunts into the mirror dimension, or wherever it was he spent most of his time. No one was really clear on that bit, as to where Dr. Strange disappeared to so often, but no one but Mr. Stark ever hassled him about it, because of the whole potential “phenomenal cosmic powers” contained in a meticulously maintained, and all-too-often vacant, New York townhouse.

When he got home, after all the musings on his contemplative swing home, he pulled up SuperStalker to distract himself from the awkward night, and to think about his caption entry a bit more.

Anyone could use existing photos from the site’s archives, for a lesser prize, but he and Wade at least had wanted to be fully original, and Peter had trawled his own personal archive for some as-of-yet unsubmitted gem, but maybe a picture from earlier tonight would be even better. And of course, the contest only specified “best” caption, with additional non-monetary prizes like site merch to be given for specific categories, like “most funny” and “most thirsty” and “most inspiring.” Without a doubt, Wade would be focusing his prurient interest, as it were, on winning the “thirsty” badge if nothing else, but Peter was still undecided. 

* * *

Last week, eating Chinese takeout with Deadpool on a roof, while passing over the fortune from his cookie to Deadpool per his demands, Peter complained, “Don’t you ever wish they were actually fortunes though? They’re just truisms more than half the time.”

Deadpool had shrugged. “We see enough magic and mystery in this line of work, doncha think? I’ll take the obvious over the obscure, but honey you know I’d prefer the obscene.” He smoothed out the slip of paper, in the twilight of big city midnight, and read, in an overdone soothsayer voice, “A true hero isn’t measured by the size of his strength but by the size of his heart.”

“Even adding ‘-in bed’ doesn’t make that one obscene, sorry.”

“If it were actually a fortune, adding ‘-in bed’ always works.”

“Yes! See! We agree now, I knew you’d come around! All fortune cookies should actually be fortunes. Although a Disney quote isn’t half bad, really.”

“Fine, you win, Spidey, but give me a win now. Make it dirty for me, baby.”

Peter blushed under the mask a bit, but “...is it too obvious to suggest a dick joke? Size of strength, and size of hearts, and...size of other appendages?”

Deadpool laughed and started to shove a piece of fortune cookie in Peter’s mouth, waiting for Spider-Man to close the gap. Peter hesitated for just a moment, and then took the bite. It felt more like taking a plunge. “Perfect, there, enjoy your filthy reward cookie. If you’re such a size queen, are tarantulas the only spiders you talk to? Or if it’s size of hero you like, is the Hulk the only one for you?” 

Peter had crumpled up the gathered packaging trash in his hand, and shifted to a crouch to swing away soon. He feigned thoughtfulness. “Hmm, no.”

“C’mon, Spidey, give me something to think about, something to keep me warm at night while you’re swinging away.”

Peter grinned recklessly, remembering the perfect joke. “I don’t like big dicks or small dicks, only medium dicks. Cause they can talk to ghosts.”

He jumped then, and laughed at Deadpool’s exaggerated shocked expression, hands spread over his half mask-clad face. 

* * *

Peter was clicking through his photos now, hoping for something he could use that fortune cookie phrase on. That had been an almost perfect interaction with Deadpool, and he had come across a great deal smoother a week ago than earlier tonight. If he liked the idea of using this contest to commemorate some of his time with Deadpool, he certainly wouldn’t be using anything from their conversations today. 

Besides, as Spider-Man or as Peter --well, as spider.bro-- he rarely risked being the overly-flirty or thirsty one. It would surprise and charm Wade probably, if he could submit something more risque than his usual fare. He finally settled on a photo of Deadpool that wouldn’t have ever been print-worthy. While it likely would have been, and probably would still be, a big hit on the site, he’d kept it for himself, but in a hoarding-memories way rather than a saved-in-the-spank-bank way. Y’know, mostly. It was a somewhat artistic shot, with beams of light slanting through the dust after some sort of scuffle. Spider-Man had gotten there after the fight was already over, and he’d hung back and snapped a few pics when he saw the street vendor just outside the frame giving Deadpool free food, and in true unfazed New York fashion, standing there amidst the broken concrete, rapidly talking and gesticulating at the dangerous mercenary. Deadpool was laughing, head thrown back, while his hand, holding a truly oversized kielbasa hot dog, was in the perfect place down by his waist to make it look like an anatomical suggestion. An improbable and excessive anatomical suggestion, but still. It was honestly very on-brand for Deadpool, really; both the inclusion of food and the lewd joke.

Peter grinned as he layered the caption at the bottom of the photo. “A true hero isn't measured by the size of his strength but by the size of his heart. Or maybe the size of his kielbasa.”

Maybe he couldn’t stop blowing his chances with Deadpool, but these were still fun memories, both the photo and the fortune cookie conversation. And he liked seeing Deadpool interact with civilians, and seeing reminders of it. He was crude and loud, which discouraged some, but to those who didn’t mind the bluster, he was surprisingly gregarious. Peter wasn’t entirely sure why the Avengers never seemed to see that, or why Deadpool rarely showed anything but his rage and distractibility during the infrequent times he saw them all together. But that was a mystery for another time. For now, Peter was finally ready to sleep, now that the pleasant thoughts and humorous task had eased his strained feelings after his cringey night with Deadpool.

* * *

He hadn’t seen or talked to Deadpool in the days since That Night™ but schoolwork and the online hype over the caption contest had kept him busy. Wade had said he’d only show his if Peter would show him his first, and while Wade almost definitely meant a number of things by that comment, it also meant Peter hadn’t seen Wade’s entry yet, since Peter had kept his own a secret still. He had submitted it the instant he finally finished it, and waited impatiently ever since for the official time when all the entries would be posted. Winning the prize would be fantastic (he could always use the money, always), or winning a badge would be great too, but he was, somehow, most anticipating and simultaneously dreading Wade’s post. It was sure to be about Spider-Man, and sure to be decidedly NSFW. Wade was like Deadpool in that way, with how much of their loud appreciation for Spider-Man was fixated on looks. But where Deadpool very rarely showed some heart and authenticity to Spider-Man, Wade was always very kind and understanding in response to anything Peter had told him about himself and his life, edited and censored as it had to be. But that was to _ Peter _ , as a supposed civilian, and most anything Wade ever said about _ Spider-Man _ was of the -ahem- thirsty variety. And what a variety. Oof. Complimentary, yes, always, but at the cost of Peter blushing near enough to spontaneously combust. But if under duress, Peter might possibly confess the incendiary heat he felt from all the innuendo wasn’t entirely just from embarrassment...

Of course, to be fair, Peter as Spider-Man rarely shared much of his real self with Deadpool. It was risky, in more than one way, and their snatched conversations before and after their masked tasks didn’t lend themselves to the same opportunities for heart-to-hearts that his online and texted conversations with Wade did. But still. Deadpool seemed like the entire package (just don’t make Peter admit he’d noticed said package, too) from the hints of the deep personality under all the humor and weaponry, but Wade was present for Peter, even at that digital distance, in a way the actual presence of Deadpool wasn’t. Wade felt safe, and Deadpool felt dangerous.

(Mr. Stark would have an aneurysm at that sort of obvious understatement. He could practically hear him in his head. “Oh, really, kid, does the _ masked murderer _ not feel safe??? My high estimation of your IQ, from your appreciation of my tech, and the way you can _ almost _ keep up with me--what was I saying? Right, my very generous estimation of your IQ drops 10 points every second you even mention mercenaries like him. We’re like the Olympics here, kid, okay? The unpaid hero is the true hero. And yes, then the Stark Avengers Initiative Nonprofit pays the Avengers, ostensibly to do promotional tasks and participate in community events, but the point is, the hero-ing itself is entirely voluntary, even for the paid Avengers, they can opt out of any fight, any time, no-harm-no-foul. Kind of a necessary policy when you’ve got Banner on the payroll. Hey, no, don’t sit down, don’t get comfortable here, kid. Either hand me that spanner and help out, or get outta here. This isn’t a therapy session; obviously, there’s no booze. Don’t tell Pepper I said that, she hates when I corrupt you baby heroes.”)

Peter’s patrol phone dinged with an address. He winced and cracked his neck, like he was gearing up for a fight. Not that he’d be fighting Deadpool. Yikes. Gosh, no, that would be much more terrifying. Good to keep it all in perspective, really. No, all he had to do was go see someone he liked, after an excruciatingly humiliating encounter, after which he had hidden away to lick his wounds in secret, and very obviously broken their pattern and not casually texted or met up with said friend. He should say colleague, maybe. Yeah. That would be a safer amount of distance: colleague. He’d avoided said colleague, but now there must be a lead in the case. The phone dinged again with a time nearly 2 hours later, and Peter typed and retyped his reply several times before finally sending “see u there.” _ Suave. Great, that masterpiece of communication was definitely worth all the overthinking _, he scoffed to himself.

But that meant there was still time to kill, and finally (FINALLY!) he had the caption contest entries to enjoy. Peter perched on his chair, tilted toward the screen and chin rested on the knee he’d hugged to his chest. He scrolled through the contest page eager to distract himself, looking for Wade’s entry, and enjoying all the others he saw along the way. There were fewer Captain America and Iron Man posts than he’d expected so far, but then again, he probably had only seen a fraction of all the submissions by this point. 

After an amusing hour, he was just getting antsy enough to consider searching for Wade’s entry directly, despite trying to wait and savor it, when he paused over a picture of himself. It was a grim photo, but not merciless or ugly like some of the Daily Bugle's favorites. Spider-Man looked dusty and beaten down, pushing up from a crouch. He looked tired and hurt (and he remembered being both, all too well, if this was taken during one of his fights alongside the Avengers, like he thought it was), but somehow still dignified and unbroken, even in his shredded suit, and with the discomfort evident in his posture. It wasn't a particularly perfect shot, but in some ways the blurred edges of the frame looked more like a filter than a mistake. The caption underneath read, in solemn font, "Hero is not a noun, it's a verb."

Peter sat, stunned, when he saw the source was bangbang-ur-ded. Wade. 

Wade had submitted a sincere and meaningful caption and photo of Spider-Man. Peter knew that Wade liked Peter, and that Wade lusted after Spider-Man, but this...Huh. Wade actually liked Spider-Man? Liked Spider-Man as a hero, as a person beyond the flattering suit, apparently. Should that have been obvious? He really hadn’t known that, not for sure, and that was...Well, it was just another point in Wade’s favor really. But it also felt pretty significant, at the moment, especially. A sexy photo or caption might still have boosted his confidence, but this: this warmed his heart. Not that Peter would ever quit being Spider-Man, no matter how excessively he ever managed to embarrass himself in front of Deadpool or anyone else (_ not that that’s a challenge, Daily Bugle! _), but still. It was nice to get affirmation from someone whose opinion he actually valued. 

Ugh, he was overthinking all of this, too, no doubt, plenty of people respected him right alongside the rest of the pantheon of heroes, but still, he was going to enjoy the pick-me-up for what it was, and tell Wade he liked his post, as effusively but, uh, casually, as possible. It was difficult, and such a shame, that he could never tell anyone who he was, and that restriction chafed now like it always did when he thought of Wade lately. But even as a supposedly uninvolved civilian, he could still compliment Wade on his unexpected inspirational take on the contest. He could still say it was personally meaningful to him, even if no one knew him as Spider-Man. 

He had just picked up the phone to message Wade on the SuperStalker app when it beeped and displayed a rapidfire list of new messages from Wade.

bangbang-ur-ded: _ HEYY _

_ JUST SAW UR ENTRY _

_ HOLY FUCK UR SPIDEY _

_ RIGHT??? _

_ CAN’T BELEVE THIS _

_ ASDJKNMKFMGIDJFHDFASDJDFDIK _

_ SPIDER.BRO = SPIDER-BABE _

_ OMG _

_ ANSWER ME SPIDEY!!!!!!!! _

Peter blinked along with the text cursor on the messages in the app, frozen.

He’d been so cautious, he’d been so careful to keep his identity a secret, and now some stranger on the internet… Well, in calmer circumstances he’d like to think Wade wasn’t such a stranger by now, but still, this was awful. This was very--not good. This was catastrophic. His mind raced, considering and discarding any number of ridiculous responses. Should he sarcastically admit it, or deny it laughingly, or say he no longer speaks English, or chuck the phone out the fire escape?? Was there a protocol to lying by commission, and not just omission, to the person you had come to trust more than a little, who’d now suddenly swept in and stripped you metaphorically naked? And _ not _in any sort of sexy way?

His phone beeped again.

bangbang-ur-ded: _ spidey, ru there??? _

_ looks liek ur still online? _

_ cmon!!!! _

_ talk to me!!!!!! _

He turned off his phone and dumped it into his backpack. No response might not be the most effective counter-argument, but it was all his panicked mind could come up with, and besides, he rationalized, he had to meet Deadpool sooner rather than later, and he’d rather take a long time swinging over than stare at these incriminating messages. He hurriedly jammed the suit into his backpack, snagged a protein bar, and stumbled out onto the fire escape like he might actually suffocate if he stayed in the room even one instant longer.

In the distance, quiet as the unobserved metaphorical fallen tree, the world kept spinning. A pickpocket snagged a wallet. A butterfly landed on a bloom. A bubble escaped a sink of soapy dishes and drifted to the ceiling. And in a server room far away, lights blinked and fans hummed on a server, collecting the unread messages steadily accumulating in Peter’s SuperStalker inbox like the swirling drifts of ash after a calamitous blaze.

bangbang-ur-ded: _ fuck _

_ ru ok? din’t mean to freak u out _

_ hey _

_ shit shoulda said 1st: u kno me 2!!! _

_ i recognized ur caption! CAUSE U SAID IT TO ME, ‘member??? _

_ ‘fortune cookies never say fortunes’ _

_ right?? _

_ cmon turn on ur location i just wanna talk _

_ … _

_ frak u know thas a joke right _

_ cause i know where ur gonna be anyway _

_ ohh fcuk i kep making this worse, if u don’t remmber, somehow _

_ ahhhhh _

_ im soo sorry _

_ i luv u _

_ frak _

[bangbang-ur-ded has gone offline]


	3. [Click here to view SuperStalker's SpideyPool timeline!]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SuperStrangelove or: How Peter Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Danger

Peter got to the location by the docks in record time, even after a circuitous route that was almost as tangled as his mental threads. He’d changed in a hurry and stashed his backpack with nervous stuttery motions, as though the phone inside were a poisonous snake that could strike out if he wasn’t careful. _ Not poisonous, venomous. _He snorted at the memory. Deadpool had told him the meme joke during a lull in patrol once, as they’d leaned together in a dim corner with a quick snack.

_ If if bites you and you die, it’s venomous. If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. And if you bite it and no one dies, that’s kinky. _His mask had been rolled up to his nose too, and he’d leaned back and grinned his Han Solo rogue’s smile at Peter, and Peter had felt whiplash from his instinctive panic at the flirtatious closeness warring with a visceral bone deep need to lick off the cinnamon sugar dusted on Deadpool’s mouth from the churro. Instead Peter had shoved his last few bites into his own mouth like a flustered chipmunk and started a dead climb up the wall to scout for trouble from a height rather than walking up the fire escape with Deapool to listen out together, as they often did during quiet nights.

He’d seen the meme since then, and the other jokes from it. _ If it bites me and someone else dies, that’s correlation not causation. _

Here and now, he wasn’t sure if Peter or Spider-Man had been bitten, but it was definitely killing Peter to wrestle with the shock and anxiety of being discovered. Maybe it was more like a toxin. Peter collected as much random trivia as he memorized useful information, actually, maybe more, and he remembered learning that the garter snake had venom that wasn’t dangerous to humans, and wasn’t technically poisonous itself, but eating it nevertheless kills a human because of the amount of toxins trapped in its body from its diet of newts and salamanders. Peter had swallowed down his vigilante secret over and over, and now that it was known by at least one unintended person, it left him reeling and waiting to see if the bite was deadly after all. He felt a bit like a cartoon character running off a cliff and only feeling gravity’s sudden brutal grip when he looked down and saw the solid ground was gone, the mask was off, the secret was out.

* * *

He was practically vibrating from stress as he waited for Deadpool on the roof across the street from a small restaurant, when he suddenly realized why they were meeting there. This was it. The floors above the restaurant, which he’d assumed were typical apartments, were suddenly noisier than they had been, and he could see, from his angle up above, that there were groups of people being lined up within the rooms, in what clearly were not actually family apartments. His eyes were frantically scanning along the windows looking for any additional helpful information when Deadpool stepped up next to him and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder, pressing him down and back from the edge of the roof, turning him gently to face him. 

Peter was already tripping over his words, to report what he’d seen so far, and to ask if Deadpool had a plan already, or any additional information from when he’d discovered the location, but he stalled out midthought as Deadpool very deliberately slid his hand down Peter’s arm from his shoulder to hold his hand, and took the other hand in his opposite hand too. 

“Wha--?”

“Are you okay, Peter?”

  
“Yes? Why are you--what’s happening?

“I got here as fast as I could, I didn’t want you to be alone. You’re not alone. We’re in this together.”

  
Peter bobbled his head jerkily in agreement, confused. Of course they were in this together, they’d been planning this rescue for weeks, and coordinated this very meeting just hours earlier! Deadpool was being as weird as the rest of his day had been, but frankly, Peter didn’t have time for any of this right now. There was work to do!

“Okay...good. Me too. The same, the---all of that.” He mentally focused, shoving all this odd behavior to the side for the moment. “Look, we can talk about--uh, this, later, but for now we have work to do.” He tugged his hands free to gesture towards the building across the street. 

Deadpool nodded seriously, but with a quirk of smile visible under the mask.

“That’s my Spider. Okay. So. I got somebody to flip, and don’t get all judgy at me, baby, cause I didn’t even have to hurt ‘em! I found one running his mouth at a gambling room and as he was leavin’ down the alley I contributed to his discretionary income, right, and he was happy to make it worth my while. Worthwhile just in words, I mean! Don’t get jealous!”

Peter swiped his hand at him to brush off the comment and hurry up the story.

Deadpool continued, “He said this was the place they keep most of the newcomers. He wasn’t sure where they get all of ‘em, local or import, right, but he said they keep ‘em here for a bit for skin trade and then every so often they get a new group and they ship the worst off ones to other things. They sell ‘em to the highest bidder, and it explains some chatter I’ve heard of a new group maybe doing more human experimentation, like what made me, ya know? Gruesome talk.” He was quiet, looking down.

Peter nudged his shoulder. “Hey. That’s why we’re here, to stop this, to save them, right? They seemed to be moving people around on the bottom floors right now, but the upper middle floors are quiet. I can work my way down from the top floor and web up anybody I come across, and if I get you to the fire escape you can start in the middle and work your way up, maybe? We’ve just got to be quick and quiet at first, to make sure none of the people get hurt because of us. I think we could get them all safe on the roof and then clear up the main group of guards on the first and second floor, what do you think?”

Deadpool stepped much closer again. “It’s good. You’re good. Be careful, Peter, okay? Just...I don’t wanna lose ya right when I found ya. We’ve got a lot to talk about real soon.”

Peter scuffed his foot on the floor a little confused but touched by how oddly sentimental and serious Deadpool was being.

“Yeah, you too. Yeah, we can talk after.” Deadpool smiled and then tugged him to look over the roof’s edge with him.

After a brief negotiation on where to land on the building, and observing the limited activity outside, they swung over together, and Deadpool hung on silently to Peter’s shoulders as Peter sticky-crawled his way up over to the fire escape in the middle of the building.

Deadpool stepped down and Peter started to raise his hand to web himself up to the roof, but Deadpool caught his hand first, and put his other hand on the back of Peter’s neck, gently leaning him forward to rest their foreheads together for a moment, and then stepped away to quietly break into the nearest dark window. Peter stood stunned until Deadpool looked back over his shoulder and smiled, whispering, “creep it real, babe!” before disappearing inside, and Peter shook himself and hurried to the top level to start his side of the plan. Deadpool was, as always, completely impossible to predict, but for once the absolute bizarreness of the day was a pleasant surprise. Peter still wasn’t sure what to do about the whole earlier panic with Wade, and _ WOW this was not the time to be distracted thinking about Wade, _ but he also knew it wasn’t the time to be distracted by how utterly authentic and sweet Deadpool was being, but it at least gave him a warm glow to counteract the icy terror he’d felt since being identified by Wade. But really, now was not the time.

He reached for the nearest window ledge and shoved the window up as silently as he could manage, nearly slithering inside in his attempt to be unnoticed. The floor was quiet, and he didn’t notice any changes in volume from the lower floors where Deadpool was, so maybe they could pull this off just like they’d planned it, for once. 

He snuck up behind a guard slowly walking the hallway, and brought him down without much fuss, but he had only a walkie-talkie on his belt, and Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to understand any radio calls, whether from code or a different language, but he kept it on hand anyway. Down the hallway he found a few locked doors he broke with a wrenching grip of his super-strength, and he attempted to settle the occupants as quickly and quietly as possible. He felt very far out of his depth, trying to calm a group of frightened and traumatized young people, but he could hear the occupants of the room next door clamoring too, apparently in reaction to the sudden ruckus from the room he was in, so he darted to the next door, broke it open and jumped back and to the side in reaction to his Spidey sense, as an older teen boy swung a chair leg at him the moment the door opened. Peter wasn’t sure if anyone spoke English, or if anyone here would really be willing to believe anything he said, anyway, but he nevertheless asked, as calmly as he could, where everyone else was kept, and if anyone right now needed help getting to the roof to wait for help. The suspicion was radiating off the group, and after all, he wasn’t a particularly famous hero outside of the USA, maybe, so he stayed back, with his hands open wide, trying to appear as non-threatening as a man in a mask can be. 

Eventually, the group gestured to the few still lying down, and he could tell instantly they were all very ill. He carefully scooped up 2 of the 5, and motioned to the rooftop stairs, and a few of the other older teens helped carry the other 3. They were burning up with fever, Peter could feel through the suit, and the cold nighttime air wouldn’t help, so he left them huddled together at the top of the stairs, with the others still bunched around. He put a finger to his mouth to warn them to stay silent, and enough of them nodded, that he turned to go to the next floor down. The makeshift baseball bat teen stopped him before he left, though, and whispered, in accented but clear English, that there were more chained in the basement downstairs, to be taken away next.

Peter nodded, and patted his shoulder as encouragingly as he could. 

“I’ve got another hero here helping me, named Deadpool, if you see him. We’re going to get you all out. Stay here, try to keep each other safe, but stay quiet until we can deal with all the guards.” Deciding it made more sense, since he didn’t have a weapon to leave them, and he worried about the walkie-talkie making noise and revealing him as he snuck around the floors, he gave the radio to the boy. At least they’d have a bit of warning if the gangsters realized what was going on and came for them.

They nodded solemnly at each other, and Peter braced himself for the next floor. This time he had to web a few guards before they could react to him, but so far, so good, and everyone of that floor was sent up the stairs too, while the guards were webbed up tight and their tasers were handed off to the prisoners he’d freed. His Spidey sense was lowly buzzing in the back of his mind, and he couldn’t tell what was triggering it, aside from the general danger of the situation. He paused at the next flight of stairs, listening intently, confused at what the rumbling sound just at the edge of his hearing was, before he whipped his head up as the makeshift bat boy rushed down the stairs with the radio, and frantically motioned to him.

“On radio!” The boy whispered in a panic. “Truck here now! For basement!”

Peter tried to calm him, saying that he understood, and that he’d go right now to save them.

He rushed back up the stairs with the boy, and hastily asked if anyone else could go down with him to the street, and try to find a way to call the police. He’d shaken his head when the same boy tried to go with him, “No, you need to stay and be ready to get everyone out, be ready to fight back if you have to.”

An older teen girl quickly volunteered, and with only a few words of explanation he led her to the roof’s edge and he reached an arm out to her, gesturing her to his side. When she stepped over and let him hold onto her, he immediately stepped off the edge of the roof and dropped down, barely slowed by the web he’d shot out, to release the strand right as it was starting to rebound and begin to tug them back skyward, and they dropped the last few inches to the ground with a tiny jolt. The girl collapsed against the wall with wide eyes, staring at Peter, and he started stammering apologies, only now realizing how sudden and terrifying that whole experience must have been, when she burst into silent tears, and he had a moment of absolute rage at himself before he recognized she was actually laughing, from relief or actual amusement, he wasn’t sure.

Okay then.

So everyone in the entire world was insane today, not just Deadpool, and not just Wade, though, really, with the benefit of a few hours hindsight, and the blatant threat of danger of a more imminent kind than an unmasking, Peter was now wondering, was it Wade or Peter that was the crazy one in that whole convoluted mess? He shook his head and pushed all such thoughts to the side, and gently steered the girl toward the bodega down the street, before sneaking toward the restaurant, and the truck rumbling behind it, the clattering sound revealing the truck's back door was rolling up, though he couldn’t see it yet. 

He dropped a hand to his hip and realized with a curse that in all the earlier angst and worry, he’d forgotten and left his patrol phone in the backpack with his metaphorically dangerous real phone. Oh, crap, he had no way to tell Deadpool the plan had changed. To be fair, Deadpool did most of the improvising and plan-imploding on their other team-ups, so it was about time Peter was the unreliable one, but he felt profoundly uncomfortable with the idea. There was nothing for it, though; he could hear doors being unlocked and guards yelling to hurry their prisoners along from the lower levels, and if he didn’t hurry up and jump in, webs blazing, as it were, the truck would leave to who knows where, and even if they eventually caught up, anything could have happened to the hostages by then.

He really should’ve called the Avengers, he was also realizing. Funny, he’d resisted calling in the Avengers all this time, and now that he finally felt the need strong enough to overcome his isolationist pride, he didn’t have a way to contact them. He hesitated for only a moment longer before he webbed an arrow on the side of the building, pointing to the roof. It wouldn’t be very visible in the twilight of the streetlights, unless someone was looking for a sign, and it wouldn’t be much to go off, but if Deadpool or the Avengers saw it, hopefully they’d be able to go rescue the group from the top floors waiting just off the roof. He couldn’t wait any longer, so he threw his shoulders back, and listened intently around the corner, before leaping up and webbing himself into a curving swing around the corner.

* * *

He woke up a bit later, lying on the concrete floor of the loading dock with some scattered memories and a pounding headache, as Deadpool helped him to sit up. There were flashing red and blue lights in the background, and all the noise around them seemed hectic but not panicked, so the fight was probably over. He could sort of remember that, maybe? He remembered thinking it was nearly over...

“Hey, there, soldier, you okay?” Deadpool was checking him over for injuries as he talked, and Peter blinked owlishly at him. 

“Yes?”

“Good, very assertive, I like that in a man. Your bat boy sidekick told me you were down here when I brought my groups up the stairs, cause it went fast, I guess most of the guards were down here to help with the transfer? Anyway, you were doing a gorgeous job, that ass does not quit and neither do you, and I _ might’ve _ been watching while I should have been helping, and you got tazed just as you were swinging over one of the baddies, and you went down pretty hard. The cops were already here, just about to come in, so I’m sorry I didn’t jump in and help in time for you to get your grand finale.”

Peter nodded and winced at the motion, and looked around the room.

“...There’s an awful lot of gunshot wounds down here, for the story you’re telling. And a few gunshot wounds through webbing,” Peter said, with narrowed eyes.

“Well, I might have...vented my worry in a semi-productive manner. Plus they, uh, they twitched, Gimli.”

Peter grimaced and said, “Is this where you expect me to say they twitched because they had my axe in their nervous system, because as much as I love Lord of the Rings, that’s an absurd line, and completely anachronistic.”

Deadpool laughed and leaned their heads together. “Oh, good, you’re lecturing me about movies, you’re definitely all better. But looky, honey, this will make you feel even better: they’re all still alive! Just like you like! No needless deaths here, no sirree.”

Peter gave a jokingly patronizing pat to Deadpool’s head. “That is good, thank you…. Wait, ‘needless death,’ so you’re saying you DID kill someone, it was just very justified?!”

Deadpool jokingly acted like he was going to force Peter to lie back down, “Shush, damn, you really are all better, trying to catch me slipping, but no, they really are all alive, although the fucker who tased you is gonna need knee surgery, and I ain’t apologizin’ for that. But no, I know you like ‘em all alive.” He pretended to gasp and leaned closer to Peter, “Oooh, is that the spider in you?? ‘Member, in Lord of the Rings they say that huge spider Shelob only knocks out her prey first, she doesn’t kill ‘em right away! She likes ‘em raw and wriggling when she eats them, girl after my own heart.”

Peter pulled a face, and swung his legs over the side to stand up. “Eww, dude, and she doesn’t even say that. She doesn’t say anything, she’s just sort of a personification of evil.” He kept talking even as Deadpool interjected, “Personification of Evil new-band-name-called-it!!”

“And by the way, how long was I actually out?” 

They weaved their way through the crowd of police and social workers dealing with all the gangsters and captives. Peter knew they’d only turn a blind eye on the vigilantes for a short while, in thanks for what they’d accomplished, but if they stuck around too long, or if anyone thought Peter was actually injured, things would get uncomfortably official very quickly, and Peter wanted to avoid all of that.

“Oh, eons, yeah, hundreds of years. I cheated on you in time you were out, we had a son...he’d be about your age now.” Deadpool laughed at Peter’s annoyed face, as they walked down the alley. “Alright, no, just a few minutes, if that. The cops really were right outside by the time you went down. Oh! And that girl you sent to call the cops, she’s back and fine too. Another successful mission, Peter! Can we get team shirts yet? Can they be pink?” 

It was quieter now, alone in an alley, and cold from the night air, too.

“And glittery, I imagine too, right?”

“Yes! Oh, Petey-Pie, it’s like you’re reading my thoughts! Like you can see my soul! Is my soul rainbow-colors, say yes! Noooo, wait, is amber the color of my energy??”

Everything suddenly ground to a halt in Peter’s mind; he hadn’t heard any of the last bits of Deadpool’s comments over the roaring in his head.

Deadpool said Peter. Deadpool...Deadpool had said Peter THE ENTIRE MISSION, and it was only just now pinging around in his overstressed brain why so much of Deadpool’s comments tonight had set Peter on edge: Deadpool knew his identity.

Wade knew his identity.

Both knew his identity the same day -- Peter didn’t necessarily think he was Stark levels of genius (except in brief brief moments of triumph, when he may or may not have considered elaborate facial hair in his future) but nevertheless, Peter did pride himself on his intellect.

But it was completely stalled at the inevitable conclusion that Wade was Deadpool, and Deadpool was Wade, and they both knew Peter in both his identities, and Peter knew both of them, and--

Oh, and this was the real zinger, the straw-that-broke-the-camel’s-back bit that sent Peter stumbling against the alleyway wall and leaning his head against the brick: both of them maybe more than liked both versions of Peter, and Peter lov--- uhhh, _ like-liked _ both of them.

Deadpool, even as indefatigable a talker as he was, had realized when Peter had completely checked out of the conversation, and rushed over to him, slumped as he was with his arms braced on the wall and head now resting wearily on his wrists.

“Hey, hey, heyyyy, Pete, are you okay? Did you get up too fast after all?” Wade was leaning over him, caging him against the wall, and timidly patting along him as though wanting to look for further injuries but not wanting to discomfort Peter. “I know you really went down hard at the end there, I just thought your healing factor was enough, and…”

He trailed off as Peter turned his head to look directly at him.

Even in his current upheaval, Peter could notice that few people recognized or appreciated Deadpool’s emotional intelligence, as Deadpool stared back. Deadpool wasn’t entirely unaware of social rules and conversational cues, despite the apparent evidence to the contrary. It was just that he was enough of an asshole to recognize but entirely disregard them, typically. As Deadpool met and held his gaze, even through the double-layer of masks between them, Peter could sense the pieces clicking into place in Deadpool’s mind that he was only just now realizing that Deadpool and Wade were the same person.

Peter stayed sagged against the wall, partly from a combination of physical and emotional fatigue, as well as from an instinctive sort of impulse to not startle Deadpool-- to not startle _ Wade _ away, now that this was finally all coming out.

“Ah.” Wade said, as he stepped back and to the side, so Peter could more easily see him over his shoulder as he was, and finally looked away.

Peter let the long pause hang in the air until Wade rolled his own mask above his top lip and finally continued.

“So...so I’m Wade, nice to meet you. Again. I mean, for the first time in-person, but. I, uhh, I liked pretending you might be Spidey, when we chatted online, but I didn’t know you actually were until today. And I…” He huffed. “I’m sorry I freaked you out, that was just...I guess once I realized who you were, I thought maybe you did already know it was me? Since I always said I was Deadpool? But I know, I know, so did half of the other users on the site, I know. But...it feels like no one ever actually sees us, y’know, sees _ us, _they only see pieces, and my whole life is pieces, it’s all fucking shattered, all the time, and there was that moment when I realized all the pieces I was seeing was the whole of you, and the pieces you were seeing were the whole of me, and I-- I rushed it, and I totally get if I shattered this too. I break everything, but I didn’t mean to break you. Fuck, Peter. I know how I feel about you, but I can see what you must think about me.”

Peter stayed perfectly still as he answered, slowly. “I did have a tiny little breakdown today.”

Wade flinched, but stayed rooted to the spot. “It wasn’t about you, exactly. I know it’s a cliche to say it’s-not-you-it’s-me, but I’ve had to be so careful to keep this secret for so long, and it was like-- It was like losing a scab and bleeding, or the way you get a cast off and then the muscle and skin are so weird and weak underneath, and it scares you, the way you’re not sure how to live without this armor you’ve relied on.” Wade was hunching in on himself as Peter talked. Peter paused and then added, “Or the way bright sunlight hurts when you’ve been in the dark.”

Wade looked up at the hopeful note of Peter’s last sentence. Peter leaned back into standing fully upright again, and angled himself just the slightest bit towards Wade, still mostly facing the wall. He could sense no one in the dark alley with them, as he moved deliberately, raising his arms to carefully pull his own mask off. “But you did see me. And you’re right, I think I see all of you too.”

Wade made an aborted sound and hesitated a long moment before he lurched forward, crowding Peter against the wall to hug him tightly, back to front, chin hooked over Peter’s shoulder as they both leaned near the cold bricks of the wall. He had tipped his face near Peter’s, and sighed as Peter met the action, and tilted their faces together, with Wade’s bunched up mask the only thing between them. Peter moved slow enough for Wade to stop him, as he curved back into Wade’s firm hold and cautiously tugged Wade’s mask the rest of the way off. 

Their kiss was nothing like he’d pictured kissing his online-friend Wade would be like, eager but probably with less bite than all the bark of their flirty conversations, and with dangerous secrets always between them. And it was nothing like he’d pictured giving in and kissing Deadpool would be like, frantic and full of lust tempered with regret, though there was in fact still spandex between them like in any of his fantasies and Peter did feel every bit as desperate to touch him as he'd imagined. But as Wade pressed tight against him, nudging them up against the wall, pawing at the rest of the spandex between them to get to warm skin, Peter shivered at how perfect it had turned out, regardless.

And at least Peter didn’t have to tell anyone their first time was a frenzied somewhat-sordid affair, half-dressed and gasping in an alleyway, but that was mainly because if you’re already editing out all the details of secret identities and that whole convoluted mess when later introducing your new boyfriend, you may as well edit out any embarrassing or gratuitous bits too.

* * *

* * *

**-epilogue-**

There were a few downsides to living with Deadpool, if Peter was perfectly honest. The general clutter was constant and inevitable. Not that Peter had ever really been a neatnik, but it genuinely baffled him the way mess just followed Wade like the wake of a boat, just perpetual self-generating heaps of flotsam and jetsam. And laundry had been done haphazardly and infrequently, with Wade’s general...uhh...casualness, about daily life, when Peter had first moved in. By now though, Peter had gotten pretty spoiled by the weekly fluff-and-fold pick-ups and deliveries that Wade had finally scheduled in a fit of pique after Peter had scrunched his nose for the millionth time at the truly excessive dirty clothes summits building steadily in the corners of the bedroom.

Plus the laundry service was probably the only reason their runner-up SuperStalker hoodies were anything less than biohazards at this point, since they both wore them constantly when in civvies. They hadn’t won the best entry with the money, but after all, that caption contest was basically how they got together, and, when he wasn't complaining about some of the cleanliness issues, he felt they’d done a fair bit better than a cash prize. And it was such a treat to have the laundry done and delivered that it was very nearly worth all the “fluff-and-fold” jokes and innuendo Wade insisted on making each week too. 

But Peter would probably never get used to finding weapons stashed literally everywhere. There were guns and bandoliers in every closet, more bullets scattered in any given drawer than there were probably batteries stored in the entire apartment, and any number of unrecognizable but clearly dangerous bits of tech scattered about too. 

Early on, Peter had opened what he thought was the cutlery drawer and stared blankly for a moment before calling out, “Why is there a grenade in the silverware drawer?” and laughing in spite of himself when Deadpool snapped back, “You mean why is there silverware in the grenade drawer! Wuh-heh!” And since that pitch perfect reference had resulted in a Scrubs Netflix-and-chill night with very little actual Netflix involved, Peter couldn’t even be mad about it, though he did carefully move any and all grenades and other such deadly paraphernalia to the gun lockers and chests strewn along the walls of the sparsely decorated apartment. 

But there were far more perks to their new living arrangements than detriments, and Peter didn’t intend to lose sight of that. The aforementioned Netflix nights were absolute bliss, and their shared taste in shows contributed to that, even if they rarely made it more than halfway through a movie or show before getting distracted. And Peter still found it bizarrely charming to hear Wade panting such filthy dirty talk only to suddenly chirp out a quote exactly in time with whatever show had kept playing in the background; endearing as it was, it still resulted in Mean Girls being very firmly relegated to the “for actual viewing” list of films, because Peter could only deal with so many humorous quotes before dissolving into laughter instead of lust. Wade had complained bitterly, but without any heat, and that was perhaps the nicest aspect of dating Wade: the high percentage of arguments that were driven almost entirely by their sense of humor and quippy natures rather than any actual frustration, and Peter was all too happy to snipe and snark back until Wade would finally smirk and roll his eyes, and give Peter’s mouth something better to do, and it was almost equally great whether he led Peter to the bedroom, or if he pushed him into the kitchen and made him waffles.

But no, probably the very best part of living with Wade were the notes everywhere. The walls were covered in hastily jotted down thoughts and reminders when Peter had first moved in, and while seeing literal writing on the walls should surely be a bad sign, Peter had shrugged and appreciated how freeing it could be to be less worried about the cost and care of some material things, though he did still buy stacks of post-it notes to restrict his own note-writing to. Wade was indiscriminate in where and when he scribbled down his stream of consciousness, with some appearing on the brightly colored paper if a stack was close enough at hand, but plenty of others still scrawled directly on the paint if not. There were funny jokes, and notes about upcoming jobs and deadlines for both of them as they occurred to Wade, and limericks about Peter’s assets, and quick sketches of their alter-egos here and there, cartoonishly fighting and cartoonishly--well, engaging in other activities. So no, Peter wasn’t keen to ever bring Aunt May here, but otherwise, it was as close to climbing directly into Wade’s hilarious and cluttered mind and making himself right at home, and he loved it. 

Feeling appropriately inspired, Peter set his laptop and coursework aside as Wade looked up, his hand still casually circling Peter’s ankle where it rested in his lap. Wade was slouched across his half of the couch, idling watching TV, but Peter knew by now that still waters definitely ran deep, and if Wade was motionless for any amount of time, he was either unconscious, or buried deep in memories and thoughts. Wade’s lips tipped just barely into a smirk though, as he watched Peter considering him, so he wasn’t wanting solitude or space at the moment. Peter very deliberately raised an eyebrow and gave Wade a blatant once-over, and true to form, he barely had to shift to crawl to Wade’s lap before he’d been half-dragged the rest of the way and had braced his hands on Wade’s broad shoulders. Wade wasn’t very consistent in his hang-ups; sometimes he was practically an exhibitionist, barely letting Peter crawl in the window from patrol before mauling him right there, and other times he turned out all the lights and smothered them both under covers, whether or not they were even in the bed at the time. But today was a good day, it seemed, and Peter revelled in the bright sunlight carving up the space around them, as though they were haloed together in the mid-morning glow.

“D’ya know what today is, my fierce little spider?”

Tipping their foreheads together, Peter shook his head with a soft smile.

“It’s Casimir Pulaski Day, Petey-Pie.”

Peter leaned back, arching his brows. “Uhh...what? I thought that was in the spring sometime? Also, I say again, what??”

“Oh, you’re some sort of expert on Casimir Pulaski now?”

“No! Although--”

“Ha, oh Spidey, what now? I love that juicy brain of yours.”

Peter scrunched his forehead. “ Was that juicy like you’re a zombie and you’re gonna eat my brains, or juicy like sexual--”

Wade kissed him. “Yes, both, everything, whatever. Tell me all about Pulaski, baby.”  
“I’m not an expert, but he was called the Father of the American Cavalry--” 

“Yeah ride me, babe,” Wade muttered, and Peter continued as though he hadn’t heard, “And he might have been a Freemason, you know, like how they say all the Founding Fathers were, like in that movie--

“Your ass is a national treasure,” Wade purred against the hinge of his jaw, and Peter just nodded. “Right, the movie National Treasure, exactly.”

Peter waited as Wade kissed down his throat and slid his hands under Peter’s shirt, drifting across his lower back and slipping under the waistband of his jeans. When Wade had completely distracted himself, and nearly made Peter forget his next point, Peter leaned down again to whisper into his ear.

“And they now think he was intersex or secretly a female in disguise.”

“Yesss, let’s intersex, bab-- WHAT?” Wade shoved Peter back so he could see his face and quickly launched into a rant. “The FATHER of the American Cavalry was maybe a badass Mulan-type chick, and nobody knows about it?”

“I mean, I knew about it, now you know about it,” Peter added mildly, as Wade talked over him.

“No, that’s not good enough, damn...actually, wouldn’t this make such a great Mulan kind of movie? Who do we talk to, to suggest it?? Or intersex you said? Ahh this would be a great story, you never see intersex stories, c’mon, Petey, let’s go! We’ve got to talk to someone about this! Go write it in webs on the Bugle building, your dick boss will love that!”

Peter laughed. “Sure, I’ll get right on that,” as he settled on the couch after Wade had dumped him to the side and started scrambling around to get dressed. “But anyway, in the meantime, why did you mention Casimir Pulaski Day anyway?”

Wade jolted to a stop and skittered back to the couch. “Oh! Fuck, baby, you got me all distracted again, you get me riled up so easy, huh?”

Peter smugly kissed him back and murmured, “You’re definitely easy for me.”

“So listen, we are leaving the apartment anyway, we’ve got a date. Pencil in the headline-webbing for another day, cause today’s a national holiday after all!” 

Peter let him pull him up off the couch and toward the door. “And why were we originally celebrating Pulaski, on a completely random day, before you had a new hero to worship?”

“Cause it’s our anniversary, my saucy arachnid, and I’m gonna take you to Coney Island or someplace and buy a mountain of kielbasa, which are Polish like my new patron saint Casimir, you see the connection, and have a hot dog eating contest with you if you’re not a coward, and then I’m gonna drag you back here for dessert.”

Peter shoved him against the door before he could pull it open, and kissed him roughly. 

“Hey Wade,” he managed in between heated kisses, “is that a kielbasa in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

**-the end-**

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 3rd Big Bang, and it was a fantastic experience!  
I had 3 incredible artists cheering and inspiring me all along the way, and a beta who surpasses description!
> 
> Thank you to [PixelizedGenocide](https://pixelizedgenocide.tumblr.com/), my very accommodating, helpful, and encouraging beta!
> 
> Thank you to, in order of art appearance in the story, borkyandstove, ohstars, and UnicornMister, my 3 wonderful artists. You're all very talented, and I'm thrilled you chose my story to work your magic on!  
Here are their Tumblrs: [borkyandstove](https://borkyandstove.tumblr.com/), [ohstars](https://oh--stars.tumblr.com/), and [UnicornMister.](https://budgie-boy.tumblr.com/)!  
Go check them out and yell about what a great job they did!!  
So thank you, Team 9, for choosing my story! It was a treat to work with all of you!
> 
> I'd like to thank the Academy, or rather, the SpiderVerse Big Bang organizers and overlords: great job, and thanks for an awesome and smooth-running experience!
> 
> I will never write a SpideyPool without the tag Angst & Humor, this is my solemn vow. Or, you know, educated guess.  
Here's my Tumblr [RansomNoteworthy](https://ransomnoteworthy.tumblr.com/), come see me anytime, it's a jumbled mess, but the digital door is always open, comrades!
> 
> And last but not least, thanks to my soulmate and my solemate, for listening to all my workshopping mumbling while I've been working on this story; none of my fanfic would exist if it weren't for you both, so really, this is all your fault!


End file.
